


Birthday Song

by umakoo



Series: If you're searching for forever [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Birthday, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Skype Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 13:41:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13835931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umakoo/pseuds/umakoo
Summary: Otabek skypes with Yuri on his 17th birthday and discovers that Yuri is hiding something.





	Birthday Song

**Author's Note:**

> This is part 2 of [If you're searching for forever](http://archiveofourown.org/series/956679), but can be read separately since this fic takes place before the events of the first fic. Big thanks to Selene and Bucky for the quick beta!

Otabek heard his phone chime in his locker, the notification Yuri had set on his calendar at the airport in Incheon reminding him that it was the 1st of March.

 

_“Don’t you dare forget, asshole.”_

 

Otabek hadn’t, and he’d been preparing a small birthday surprise for Yuri since he got back to Almaty.

 

He nodded a wordless ‘see you later’ to Nikolay as his new rink mate left the locker room. He was years behind Otabek in both skill and experience, but it was nice to see that his success had managed to inspire others to follow in his footsteps. His coach was already getting requests to take new students after Otabek brought home a bronze from South Korea.

 

He began to towel his hair, his eyes wandering to the small mirror on his locker door. The hectic weeks in Pyeongchang were still visible on his face, the brutally early competition slot and all the 5AM practice sessions something he didn’t wish to repeat any time soon.

 

He’d barely had a breather between performing and rehearsing and gritting his teeth through taciturn interviews with various Kazakh news outlets. He’d never seen a nineteen year old with eyebags like his, and Yuri, tactful as always, had told him his ungroomed brows looked like caterpillars when they’d kissed goodbye at the airport.

 

Otabek closed his locker and made a mental note to book an appointment with Galiya at her salon before he saw Yuri at Worlds.

 

The last training slot was reserved for the local hockey team and some of the players were already making their way to the locker room when Otabek slung his gym bag over his shoulder.

 

“I saw you spin at Da Freak last month,” Yevgeni said as a way of greeting, towering over Otabek even without his skates. “Not bad, Altin. Definitely better than the skinny Euro trash who came after you. The music he played was shit.”

 

Yevgeni dropped his gear on the bench, the air between them smelling like stale sweat when he pulled his jersey out of his duffel bag. “Congrats on the bronze, too. My girlfriend’s really into your twirling and she told me you made it to the podium.”

 

Otabek tried to hide his grimace when Yevgeni grabbed his shoulder with a meaty hand, his congratulatory shake jostling Otabek’s entire body.

 

“Thanks...”

 

He slipped out of the locker room and checked his Instagram feed to see if Yuri had posted his usual birthday selfie while Otabek had been polishing his jumps on the ice. He scrolled past a couple of updates from Leo and JJ, and a neon lit picture from a club in Moscow from a guy he’d met at a DJ expo a couple of years ago.

 

Below them was Yuri, glaring at the camera, his hair hanging over his face and the look in his eyes aesthetically murderous.

 

Otabek arched his brow, not quite sure what to make of Yuri’s selfie. He’d expected something a little more… enthusiastic? Smug, even? Yuri had been so sour last summer when Otabek had smuggled him to different clubs all over Almaty and the bartenders only served him water, so you’d think he’d be gloating about being one year closer to buying his own booze.

 

Otabek reached into his pocket for his car keys, his eyes still fixed on his phone as he tossed his gym bag in the backseat of his Toyota Camry.

 

He sat behind the wheel and scrolled down, studying the selfie Yuri had posted earlier in the day. It was taken outside of the Yubileyny with Mila and they both had their fur-lined hoods up, their eyes a little watery and noses pink. Yuri had complained about the cold on Facetime last night, and Otabek knew it was -30 degrees celsius in Saint Petersburg this week. That could explain the thick leopard print scarf that was pulled up to Yuri’s nose, but the picture below it was the same: Yuri glaring at the camera over the rim of a large styrofoam mug from the cafe next to the rink, his freckled nose and angry eyes the only thing visible.

 

What drew Otabek’s attention was the way the lower half of Yuri’s face appeared to be hidden in every picture. Did he have a bad zit?

 

Otabek shook his head and scrolled back to the glum selfie, typing out a quick _‘с днем рождения’_ , adding to the rows and rows of happy birthday wishes from their friends and Yuri’s passionate fanbase.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was a little past eleven when Otabek fired up his laptop, his guitar and the tabs he’d printed out waiting on the bed. He’d tamed his eyebrows with a dab of Wet Wax and his hair fell over his forehead in soft but carefully arranged waves. He glanced at his closet, wondering if he should change out of his sweatpants, but the idea of getting into stiff jeans after his evening stretches wasn’t that appealing.

 

It took ages before Yuri accepted his Skype call, and Otabek hoped he hadn’t actually woken him up when his grumpy, pixelated face finally popped up on the screen. It was only eight pm in Saint Petersburg, but Yuri’s bedroom was dark save for the neon green glow from the lava lamp on his window sill.

 

“I didn’t wake you, did I?”

 

Yuri shook his head, his eyes darting around his bed for a moment before he pulled one of his stuffed cat plushies into his arms and hugged it against his chest.

 

“Did you want to talk or something?” Yuri snapped, glowering at Otabek over the fuzzy faux fur, as if he hadn’t expected him to call on his birthday. Half of his hair was pulled up in a ponytail and he looked almost ghostly pale in the harsh light from the laptop screen.

 

It took Otabek a moment to recover from the icy greeting and he blinked at the screen, aware that something was definitely off. Should he ask about it? Or should he pretend he hadn’t noticed the way Yuri was hiding half of his face behind the plushie.

 

“Well, it’s your birthday, Yura.”

 

“Da.”

 

“Happy birthday?”

 

No answer, just another glare.

 

Otabek was used to the occasional grumpy day from Yuri, but he hadn’t expected him to sulk on his birthday. Was he still angry about his poor performance at the Olympics? He’d lost his balance in several critical jumps, botching his short program so hard that his score hadn’t been enough to get him to the free skate. Even the team gold hadn’t made him happy, because it was Nikiforov, not Yuri, who scored the winning points.

 

“Is everything ok?” Otabek asked cautiously.

 

“Everything’s fine,” Yuri huffed, his voice muffled by the plushie, and yeah, it was pretty obvious that the opposite was true.

 

But their one plus year of friendship had taught Otabek that pushing the subject would only make Yuri lash out, and he decided it was best to keep the conversation as neutral as possible. Yuri would talk when he was ready.

 

He grabbed his guitar, the curve of his smile a little nervous as he met Yuri’s eyes on the screen. “So you remember when I told you that I found my old guitar when I visited my parents on New Year? I haven’t played much since I left to train in the U.S., but I... have this song I’d like to play for you.”

 

Yuri perked up a little, lifting his face from his plushie. His mouth was pulled into a tight line, but his eyes were curious.

 

“Do you wanna hear it?”

 

A little sniff, followed by a stiff nod. “Da...”

 

“Okay,” Otabek smiled, setting his fingers on the strings.

 

He’d picked the aptly named ‘ _Birthday Song_ ’ by Don McLean, aware that Yuri was definitely going to think it was sentimental as hell if he could understand the lyrics with his mediocre English, but it was relatively easy to play and fit Otabek’s voice.

 

Yuri was perfectly still when Otabek picked up his plectrum and began to play, the first couple of words coming out a little off-key as he tried to get over the small flutter of nerves in his chest, his brow creased in concentration.

 

_If I could say the things I feel, it wouldn't be the same_

_Some things are not spoken of, some things have no name_

_Though the words come hard to me, I'll say them just for you_

_For this is something rare for me this feeling is so new_

 

Otabek glanced up, smiling when he saw Potya sniffing at the camera, her ears flicking curiously as she listened to the soft guitar riffs and Otabek’s low voice.

 

_I don't believe in magic but I do believe in you_

_And when you say you believe in me_

_There's so much magic I can do_

 

When he looked up again, his fingers froze on the strings and he stopped singing mid-phrase.

 

“Yuri, are you crying?”

 

“No…” Yuri shook his head, but he was definitely crying, his shoulders shaking as he buried his face into his plushie.

 

Otabek put his guitar away and leaned closer to the screen, his brows knitting together with worry. “Yura, what’s wrong?”

 

Yuri lifted his face and threw the plushie across the room, scaring Potya away from the bed. “This is the _worst birthday ever_ , Beka,” he wailed, the tip of his nose pink as he pressed the balls of his hands against his eyes.

 

The sudden outburst left Otabek at a complete loss. He knew Yuri well enough to expect some Big Reactions from time to time, but he’d rarely seen him in tears off the ice.

 

He took his laptop in his hands and held it in front of his face, frustrated by the physical distance between them. “Yura, what is it? Didn’t you like the song?”

 

“Of course I liked it!” Yuri snapped, his angry tone clashing with his words. “It was perfect, ok? The only good thing about this whole stupid day.”

 

“Then why-” Otabek narrowed his eyes, his gaze zeroing in on Yuri’s mouth.

 

The panic that had begun to build in his chest vanished when he finally saw the source of Yuri’s dramatics and all the self-conscious selfies.

 

“You have braces.”

 

Yuri’s eyes went almost comically wide and he slapped his palm against his mouth, glaring at Otabek as the pink on his nose spread to his cheeks.

 

They watched each other for a moment until Yuri finally lowered his hand and went off again.

 

“I hate them, Beka! Lilia made me get them _on my fucking birthday_ because that vědma thought I looked unflattering in all the pictures from Pyeongchang! Now I look like a fucking freak every time I open my mouth and-”

 

“Yura.” Otabek did his best to swallow the laugh that threatened to roll off his lips. He knew Yuri had a vain streak, but his meltdown right now? Definite overkill. “You don’t look like a freak.”

 

Yuri blinked at him through his fringe, the corners of his mouth pulling down in a sulky pout.

 

“So you have braces? It’s not that big of a deal,” Otabek said, because it really wasn’t.

 

Yuri huffed, shaking his head at Otabek. “You won’t be saying that when we see each other in Milan in a couple of weeks and you have to kiss me…”

 

“Yura, I’d kiss you even if you only had one tooth in your mouth. A big snaggly one.”

 

Yuri could’t prevent the laugh that escaped him at Otabek’s words, his new braces on full display. His teeth weren’t even that bad, but Otabek knew that Lilia Baranovskaya demanded perfection in all aspects of Yuri’s life, and the small gaps between some of his teeth had probably been an unnecessary blemish in her eyes.

 

“I still hate them,” Yuri groaned, settling to lie on his stomach, his feet kicking back and forth behind him. “I’ve had a headache since I got back from the dentist.”

 

Otabek nodded, able to sympathize. “I know, but it’ll pass, and after a while, you won’t even remember you have something in your mouth.”

 

Yuri narrowed his eyes at the camera. “How do you know that?”

 

Otabek smiled, lifting up a finger. “Give me a moment.”

 

He went to rummage through his bookshelf and pulled out the old photo album his mother had forced him to carry with him to all the different places he’d called home over the years. He flipped through embarrassing photographic evidence of his first successful potty training, followed by a visit to Almaty zoo and the first time he rode a horse at his uncle’s stables, his round face wet with tears because the mare had neighed at him.

 

He paused at the spread that held all his official school pictures, his expression stoic in all except one.

 

“Beka? Are you still there?”

 

“I’m here.” Otabek pulled the picture out from the protective plastic, a rush of embarrassment flooding down his spine. Shit. It was way worse than he remembered, but he had faith that their relationship would survive it.

 

“Where’d you go?” Yuri asked when Otabek settled back on the bed, his face bathed in the green glow of his lava lamp.

 

“If I show you something, do you promise not to laugh?” Otabek asked, his expression a little shy.

 

Yuri nodded and Otabek took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he held his school picture in front of the camera.

 

There was immediately a loud snort of laughter from Yuri. “Oh shit, _Beka_ …”

 

“Hey, I said no laughing,” Otabek scolded, arching his brows at Yuri even as his own mouth began to curve up.

 

Yuri stared at the picture, taking in ten year-old Otabek’s fat cheeks and a bowl cut that rivaled Yuri’s own unfortunate hairdo from his years in the juniors. His mother had dressed him in a sequin-embroidered vest Aunt Natalya had made for him, but the true source of his bone-deep embarrassment were the braces he’d been forced to flash at the camera. His mouth was pulled into a tight smile that looked more like a grimace, each little tooth covered with wired metal.

 

“I can honestly say that I’ve never seen you smile that wide,” Yuri said, and Otabek could hear he was fighting back a laugh. “Not even on a podium.”

 

“Yeah, well, the photographer wouldn’t let me get up until I’d smiled for her damn camera.”

 

Yuri’s mouth split into a grin as he traced his finger over Otabek’s round little cheek. “You were fucking adorable, Beka.”

 

Otabek rolled his eyes and put the picture away, settling against his pillows. “Will you kick my ass at Worlds if I say the same about you? Because I kinda like your braces, especially when you smile.”

 

Yuri tried to scowl at him, but couldn’t really keep it up, his expression softening as they watched each other through their laptop screens. He tucked his hair behind his ear and began to fiddle with the elastic hairtie around his wrist. “Thanks for the song. I… really liked it.”

 

“Yeah?” Otabek grinned.

 

“I mean, it was totally sappy, but so are you,” Yuri snorted. He got up to light his desk lamp and scooped Potya back into his arms, his eyes drifting to the guitar on Otabek’s bed. “You could sing it again all the way through if you like? You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you didn’t get to finish it, and I promise I won’t cry like a little bitch this time...”

 

“It’s your birthday, you can have anything you want,” Otabek said, his eyes fond.

 

He picked up his plectrum and settled the guitar back on his thighs, his voice a lot smoother without the strain of nerves in his throat.

 

Yuri watched him play, his knees pulled up against his chest as he rocked back and forth on his bed. Otabek hoped the declarations of love in the lyrics weren’t too intense for their two-week old relationship, but Yuri didn’t seem to take them too literally, visibly pleased with Otabek’s serenading.

 

“Shit that was cool,” he exhaled when Otabek strummed out the final notes. “I don’t know anyone else who can sing like that.”

 

Otabek gave a lopsided smile at the praise and put his guitar down on the floor, aware of the way Yuri was watching him through his lashes.

 

“Beka?” he asked, wrapping his fingers around his bare toes.

 

Otabek quirked his eyebrows at Yuri’s tone, his voice honey sweet in a way most people never got to hear it. “Mm?”

 

“You said that since it’s my birthday I can have anything I want, right?”

 

“Right…” Otabek chuckled, because yeah, he could guess where this was going when he saw Potya get pushed away from the bed.

 

“Are you alone?” Otabek asked, knowing that Yuri was still under Lilia Baranovskaya’s watchful eye. She had trusted Otabek enough to allow Yuri to travel to Almaty last summer, but he didn’t want her to walk in on anything that went beyond PG-13. And Otabek could guess that whatever Yuri had in mind was at least a hard R.

 

“No, but I just heard Lilia draw a bath so she’ll be gone at least twenty minutes.”

 

“And your door is locked?”

 

“Yeah…” Yuri grinned. He watched Otabek with half-lidded eyes, one hand slipping under the waistband of his leggings as he settled against the small mountain of pillows and stuffed animals on his bed.

 

Okay, so they were definitely doing this.

 

There’d been a slow and steady simmer of feelings between them since last summer, maybe even earlier, but their relationship was still new and they hadn’t had a chance to go beyond rushed handjobs in Otabek’s dorm in Pyeongchang. He found himself freezing a little as he watched Yuri spread his legs, the sight of him so much better than anything in Otabek’s fantasies over the last nine and a half months. He'd never touched himself in front of a camera and he blinked when he realized the black fabric of Yuri's leggings was already tented.

 

“Come on, Beka, I wanna watch you too,” Yuri whined, blowing out a frustrated little sigh.

 

“Yeah. Okay,” Otabek nodded, a little breathless.

 

He adjusted his laptop so Yuri had a clear view and settled to lie on his side, his elbow sinking into his mattress as he rested his weight on it. He was glad he’d decided to stay in his sweatpants because he was already half-hard just from watching the back and forth motion of Yuri’s hand as it moved inside his leggings.

 

Yuri let out a quiet hum as he eyed the bulge in Otabek's sweatpants, the curve of his smile approving. He seemed to enjoy taking the lead, just like on their final night in Gangneung when he'd dragged Otabek away from the party in the common area for their first official makeout session, a litany of ‘I don’t wanna go home yet, Beka, I don’t wanna go home, why’d you have to wait so long to tell me how you feel about me, asshole?’ slipping from his lips as he kissed Otabek breathless.

 

It had been over way too soon, the noise from the partying athletes downstairs and in the neighboring buildings a constant reminder that they weren’t alone. But Otabek could still remember the clean smell of Yuri’s skin and the slick feel of his cock against his palm when he’d touched him for the first time.

 

He reached into his sweatpants and stroked himself over his boxers, the combination of his own hand and Yuri on his screen almost too good. His cheeks grew warm at the small grunt that rose from his throat as all the blood in his body seemed to rush between his legs. He was used to having his stereo on in the background when he jerked off, and it was a little weird when the only real sound in the room was the traffic outside his window.

 

Otabek raised his gaze to Yuri’s face, taking in the glazed, almost dreamy look in his eyes, and he wished he could be right there with him, lying on Yuri’s tacky leopard print comforter, kissing every little gasp from his lips.

 

“Can I see you?” Otabek asked, his voice catching in his throat at the last syllable.

 

Yuri smirked at him and began to push his leggings down his thighs. He gave a small kick and they landed on the floor, the sight of his pink cock slapping against his flat belly suddenly the only thing Otabek could focus on. He felt his own cock swell in his boxers, the wet patch under his thumb growing a little larger.

 

Yuri flicked his tongue over his full bottom lip. “You too,” he said, watching Otabek expectantly.

 

Otabek didn’t have to be told twice. He pulled his hand out of his sweatpants and hooked his thumbs under the waistband to push them down to his knees. There was a soft rustle as Yuri lifted his head from the pillows, green eyes wide as he watched Otabek take himself out from his boxers.

 

“Fuck, I wish we were at Worlds already,” Yuri groaned, the slick sound of his hand audible in the speakers as he began to stroke himself. He was already rushing for his release, his hand moving at a furious pace, but Otabek didn’t have the heart to tell him to slow down when his own orgasm was building just as fast.

 

“Me too, Yura,” he sighed, taking in the way Yuri’s brows drew together in pleasure. He remembered seeing that same expression in his dorm less than a week ago, his own name spilling from Yuri’s lips. “Are you close?”

 

Yuri nodded, his hips rising from the bed, his heels digging into his comforter. The picture froze for a few seconds and Otabek cursed the blurry pixels that appeared on his screen just as Yuri’s hand stilled around his slick erection. There was a sharp inhale, followed by a rough gasp, the sound stuttering out of the speakers as Yuri thrust into his fist.

 

Otabek paused his stroking when Yuri held up his hand for the camera, his words a little slurred. “Beka... I came.”

 

“I saw,” Otabek panted, his own climax building up fast.

 

He rolled onto his back and reached for the box of tissues on his nightstand, his eyes still fixed on the laptop screen where Yuri was wiping his fingers on his t-shirt. He pulled out a wad of tissues and jerked himself faster, his stomach tensing up.

 

“ _Fuck_.”

 

“Are you gonna come, Beka?” Yuri hummed, resting his cheek against a stuffed tiger, slender legs spread obscenely.

 

“Yeah…”

 

Otabek squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his chin against his clavicles, fucking into his fist. His cheeks tingled with heat and his heart beat a mile a minute in his ears as he cracked open one eye, focusing his gaze on Yuri’s smiling face. He tried to spill into the tissue, but he felt more than half of his load roll down his shaft and pool in the coarse hairs.

 

“Fuck that was hot.” Yuri licked his lips, his gaze fixed on the mess on Otabek’s crotch. “I don’t care if I have braces, I’m gonna give you a blow job at Worlds,” he declared.

 

Otabek arched his brows and let out a breathless laugh. “Well. I won’t argue with that.”

 

They took a moment to clean up and Otabek found Yuri sitting cross-legged on the bed when he returned from the bathroom. His braces glinted in the bright glow from the screen as he failed to stifle a yawn.

 

“Ready for bed?” Otabek asked, setting his alarm for the morning.

 

“Mmm,” Yuri nodded, crooking his finger at Potya, inviting her back to the bed. “I’ll call you tomorrow if Yakov hasn’t killed me with extra shit at practice. I kind of threw my phone at him after I got back from the dentist...”

 

Otabek didn’t say that Yuri deserved it, but he definitely did deserve it.

 

They said their goodnights and Yuri was about to close the lid on his laptop when Otabek leaned closer to the microphone, whispering one last happy birthday wish to him.

 

“Tuylgan kuninisben, Yura.”

 


End file.
